by Laura Childs
“That’s a great idea,” said Haley. “Kind of like a mystery dinner.”
“Or a mystery tea,” spoke up Bethany. “Wouldn’t that be a unique thing to offer! If you can do bridal shower teas and teddy bear teas and Valentine teas, why not mystery teas?”
Theodosia had to chuckle. Right in the middle of a serious conversation, Bethany had come up with a terrific marketing idea. Themed teas. And why not? Why not mystery teas or book lovers’ teas or chamber music teas? Such catered affairs—downstairs at the tea shop, in local inns, in people’s homes—would open up whole new directions for profitability.
“I positively adore the idea, Bethany,” said Theodosia. “And I cheerfully pass the torch of marketing director along to you!”
“Oh, no! When all this is cleared up, I’m going back to the museum world. It’s a lot quieter than a tea shop.”
“A lot safer, too, I’ll warrant,” said Haley. “Now, Theodosia, fill us in on what you’ve found out about Hughes Barron. Share your suspicions concerning Timothy Neville and Tanner Joseph, too. And who’s that weird partner again?”
“Lleveret Dante,” said Drayton, carefully enunciating every syllable. “Anyone for a cup of Chinese Hao Ya?”
Everyone nodded, and Drayton scooted into the kitchen. Measuring four teaspoons of the smoky black Chinese tea into a teapot, he splashed in hot water and returned to the table.
Theodosia leaned forward and, in her quiet voice, shared her suspicions as well as the subsequent discoveries she’d made during the past few days. She spoke uninterrupted for at least thirty minutes. When she finished, the group was wide-eyed with wonderment, literally sitting on the edge of their chairs.
“Wow,” whispered Haley. “You actually went to the morgue?”
Theodosia nodded.
“And you snooped in Timothy Neville’s medicine cabinet?” asked Bethany.
“I can’t say I’m proud of that,” said Theodosia.
“How brave you were,” Bethany replied. “I would have been scared to death.”
“Lleveret Dante is really the wild card in all this, isn’t he?” said Haley.
“What do you mean?” asked Theodosia.
“He’s the one we don’t know all that much about.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Theodosia.
“How do we go about changing that?” asked Drayton.
“Spy on him,” piped up Haley matter-of-factly. “Run a background check, ask around, follow him if need be. Try to put together a profile.”
“You go, girl,” urged Bethany.
“Haley,” said Theodosia, “are you sure you’re not taking classes in criminology?”
“What about Tanner Joseph?” said Drayton. He gazed evenly at Theodosia. “He’s still working on our tea labels.”
“Leave him to me,” said Theodosia.
It was eight o’clock when they all trooped down the stairs, a yawning Earl Grey padding after them. Everyone still felt sated from the rich dinner, talked out, yet heartened by a renewed sense of camaraderie.
“Someone’s pinned a note to the door,” remarked Drayton.
“I bet it’s for me,” said Haley as she slipped her sweater on. “One of the delivery services probably arrived late and found us closed.”
Drayton pulled the paper from the door, where one corner had been stuck into the wood trim that framed the small window. “Let me put on my spectacles.” He pulled wire-rim glasses from his jacket pocket, hooked the bows behind his ears, and studied the note. “Oh, no,” he said, his face crumpling in dismay.
“What is it?” asked Theodosia, instantly on the alert. She snatched the note from Drayton’s hand and scanned it quickly. When she looked up, she was white as a sheet.
“Someone’s threatened Earl Grey,” she said softly.
“What!” exclaimed Haley. “Threatened . . . How do you mean?”
“The note,” said Theodosia in a strangled voice, “threatened him with . . .” But her throat had closed up, and she wasn’t able to finish.
“With poison,” whispered Drayton.
“Oh, God!” Haley put a hand to her mouth, shocked.
Theodosia dropped to her knees and pulled Earl Grey close to her, placing her head against his own soft head. “I can’t believe it,” she murmured softly. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to Earl Grey.”
“Theodosia.” Above her, Drayton’s lined countenance was grave. “This threat has hit too close to home. I know what we talked about . . . agreed to . . . earlier, but now . . . Well, perhaps the prudent move is to bow out of the investigation entirely.”
“Drayton, we haven’t really been in the investigation,” Theodosia shot back. “Up till now, we’ve only been on the periphery.”
“You know what I mean.” Drayton dropped his large hand to gently touch Earl Grey’s sleek head reassuringly. “We would all be heartbroken should something happen to this fine fellow.”
“Something’s already happened,” said Theodosia tightly. Her fingers kneaded at the dog’s soft fur.
“But, Theodosia—” Haley began.
“When someone threatens anyone close to me, people or pet, they’re threatening me,” continued Theodosia, her voice shaking. “I take it personally. However, I do not take it well. So this will end. And I shall be the one who brings it to a crashing conclusion.”
“My God, Theodosia, you can’t be serious,” implored Drayton. “After this terrible note—”
“I’ve never been more serious, Drayton,” she said in a hoarse whisper. She stared up at him, fire smoldering in her eyes, her breath coming in short, choked gasps, her cheeks flushed with color.
Drayton gazed back at his beloved employer, knowing the depth of her emotions and the firmness of her resolve. “All right, then,” he said finally. “Good for you. Damn good for you. You know we’re all in this with you.”
All hands reached down to touch Earl Grey, a silent acknowledgment of solidarity.
Upstairs in her apartment, alone with Earl Grey, Theodosia shook with rage. She had promised everyone she would lock the door and set the alarm. And, yes, she had done exactly that. But she had another idea cooking in her head. A good idea that would insure Earl Grey’s safety and allow her to focus all her energy, once and for all.
Take Earl Grey to Aunt Libby’s. Tonight. Right now.
Then, tomorrow morning, when she could think with a clear head and a lighter heart, she’d figure something out. Maybe even get in touch with Burt Tidwell. Who knows.
But she knew she had to do something. She couldn’t just sit idly by, feeling scared and impotent. If some sick individual had threatened an innocent dog with poison, what would they do to a person?
Of course, she already knew that answer. They’d already done it once before. To Hughes Barron.
CHAPTER 36
BUNDLED IN A wool sweater, sipping a cup of tea, Theodosia sat on the wide wooden porch, enjoying the warmth of the early-morning sun. Secure in the knowledge that Earl Grey was safe, feeling comforted by the familiar old surroundings of Libby’s house, she had slept well last night, had enjoyed deep, restful sleep for the first time in two weeks.
Now, her body refreshed and spirits slightly buoyed by the sun peeping over the trees, Theodosia gazed contentedly at the golden woods and fields spread out around her. Birds chirped dozens of melodies and darted about. Some even fluttered hopefully just above Aunt Libby’s head as she poured thistle and cracked corn into large ceramic dishes set on the lawn.
Earl Grey, deliriously glad to be running off his leash where there were such interesting places to explore and things to sniff, circled around Libby exuberantly.
Now that the weather had turned cooler, Libby had switched to high-oil-content sunflower seeds. She claimed that migratory birds would soon be arriving exhausted from their long flight from the north and needed extra oil to restore their energy.
Theodosia wondered what it would take to restore her energy. The prepa
rations to bring Earl Grey to Aunt Libby’s last night had been nerve-racking. She’d had to make three trips just to get the dog bed, canister of food, aluminum food and water bowls, and Earl Grey, himself, down to her Jeep.
Then, just on the off chance that she was being watched or even followed, she’d circled through the historic district a few times, scanning her rearview mirror for any suspicious cars. She spent another fifty minutes driving and, upon arrival, giving a careful explanation to Aunt Libby so she wouldn’t be thrown into hysterics.
But Libby hadn’t gone into hysterics. She had listened with a sort of dead calm to Theodosia’s disclosure of her sleuthing efforts following the death of Hughes Barron, as well as her explanation as to exactly why she’d brought her companion animal out to the plantation.
Libby had stretched a hand out to Earl Grey and patted him on the head. “It will do him good to spend time on the plantation,” she’d said. “Let him stretch his legs and chase critters in the woods. He can be a country dog for a while.”
Now Theodosia had to figure out her next move, and it had to be a careful one. Judging from the note last night, someone had been angered by her snooping around. Somehow, some way, she had rattled the cage of Hughes Barron’s murderer.
It was a terrifying thought, one that chilled her to the marrow. At the same time, it also gave her an odd feeling of pride at the success of her own amateur sleuthing efforts.
“Breakfast’s served.” Margaret Rose Reese, Libby’s live-in housekeeper, set a yawning platter of food down on the small pine table that sat outside on the porch.
“My goodness, Margaret Rose, breakfast’s ready so soon?” said Libby as she climbed the stairs to the porch. Dressed in a tobacco-colored suede jacket, khaki slacks, and old felt hat, she looked like a seasoned plantation owner, even though she no longer grew her own crops.
Margaret Rose was a white-haired, rail-thin woman who seemed to have the metabolism of a gerbil. Between Libby and Margaret Rose, Theodosia didn’t know which one exuded more nervous energy. In fact, if that energy were to be harnessed, it could probably generate enough power to keep the lights burning in the entire state of South Carolina.
“I swear,” said Libby, pulling off her leather gloves and sitting down to the table laden with orange juice, tea, fresh fruit, croissants, and a platter of bacon and scrambled eggs. “The older you get, Margaret Rose, the earlier you get up. Pretty soon you’ll have us eating breakfast at four A.M.”
Margaret Rose grinned. She had been with Libby for almost fifteen years. In fact, Libby had hired her right after Theodosia went off to college and Margaret Rose’s former employer, the Reverend Earl Dilworth, passed away.
Theodosia had always suspected Libby’s reasons for hiring Margaret Rose were twofold. First, Margaret Rose didn’t really have a place to go after old Reverend Dilworth died, and Libby was too kindhearted to see her left at odds and ends. Second, Libby finally realized how lonely she was, rattling around in that huge old house by herself.
True, Libby had two neighbors, good friends, who leased much of her land for growing crops and spent time around the house and old barn (now the equipment shed) on an almost daily basis. But that wasn’t the same. The house would still have been empty.
“You’re driving back to Charleston this morning?” asked Libby as she helped herself to juice, coffee, and a small serving of scrambled eggs.
Theodosia nodded.
“You know that Leyland Hartwell at your father’s old law firm would be delighted to assist you in any way,” said Libby.
She was trying not to show her deep-seated worry, but concern shone in her eyes.
“I’ve already spoken with Leyland,” said Theodosia. “He helped me obtain some information I needed. He and another lawyer, Jory Davis.”
Theodosia wondered if she shouldn’t perhaps call Jory Davis and see if he could give her a referral on a good private security company. It might not be a bad idea to have someone keep an eye on the tea shop as well as Haley and Bethany’s apartment across the alley. She decided she’d better include Drayton’s house, too. His place was so old, over 160 years, that a clever person could easily pick one of the ancient locks or pry open one of the rattly windows. And, because any restoration Drayton had done had been to make it as historically accurate as possible, she knew there was no way he’d ever install a security system.
Their breakfasts eaten, Theodosia and Libby watched as an unsuspecting woodchuck lumbered out of the woods to go facedown in a platter of seeds. Then, abruptly startled by a playful, pouncing Earl Grey, the woodchuck was forced to beat a hasty retreat and hole up in a hollow log. Nonplused, Earl Grey circled the woodchuck’s temporary hideout with a mournful but proprietary air.
“Walk with me for a while, dear,” invited Libby, and the two descended the wooden steps and slowly crossed the broad carpet of lawn.
“So peaceful,” murmured Theodosia as they wandered past the small family cemetery surrounded by a low, slightly tumbledown rock wall. In one corner of the family plot was a grape arbor with decorative urns underneath. The grapes from the thick twining vines had long since been carried away by grackles, and dry, papery leaves rustled in the gentle wind. An enormous live oak, that sentinel of the South, rose from another corner and spread its canopy over the small area.
“It’s comforting to know our family is still nearby,” said Libby. “Oh, look.” She stuck her gloved hand into a large, dark green clump of foliage and pulled out a cluster of white blossoms that resembled delicate butterfly wings. Smiling, she held out the branch to Theodosia.
“Ginger lily,” murmured Theodosia. It was a tropical plant that had long ago been brought over from Asia to grace Southern gardens. It was also one of the few plants that flowered in the autumn. Theodosia accepted the blossoms, inhaling the delicate fragrance so reminiscent of gardenias.
“Just a moment,” she whispered, and slipped through the archway into the small cemetery to lay the blossoms on the simple marble tablet that marked her mother’s grave.
Libby smiled her approval.
Circling around the pond with its shoreline of cattails and waving golden grasses, past the old barn that decades ago had held prize cattle and fine Thoroughbred horses, they came to a cluster of small, dilapidated wood-frame buildings. The elements had long since erased any evidence of paint, and now the wood had weathered silver. Red-brick chimneys had begun to crumble.
These were the outbuildings that long ago had been slave quarters.
When one of Libby’s neighbors had once suggested to her that the buildings were an eyesore and should be torn down, Libby had steadfastly demurred and explained her strong feelings about preserving them just as they were.
“No,” she’d said, “let people see how it really was, no tearing it down, no disguising the issue. Slavery was a disgrace and the worst kind of black mark against the South.”
And so Aunt Libby’s dilapidated slave quarters remained. Every so often, a group of schoolchildren or a history professor, filmmaker, or TV station would call and ask permission for a visit or to shoot film footage. Libby always said yes. She knew it was an abomination, but she also knew it was an irrefutable part of Southern history.
“Theodosia.” Libby Revelle stopped in her tracks and turned to face her niece. Her wise, sharp eyes stared intently into the younger woman’s face. “You will be very careful, won’t you?”
CHAPTER 37
YOU’LL NEVER GUESS what happened!” exclaimed Haley. Theodosia held her breath. She had just driven back from Aunt Libby’s and quietly let herself in through the back door of the Indigo Tea Shop. Now, judging by the curious, startled look on Haley’s face, it would appear that an event of major proportion had just taken place.
“Mr. Dauphine died!” Haley announced in hushed tones.
“Oh, no, how awful!” cried Theodosia, sinking into a chair. “The poor man.” She let the news wash over her. Of course, she had just been to see Mr. Dauphine three days ago, chec
king with him about offers he might have received on the Peregrine Building. They’d had a pleasant enough discussion and Mr. Dauphine had seemed in good spirits. He may have been a little tired, and his coughing hadn’t been good, but he certainly hadn’t looked like a man who was about to die.
“They just took his body away,” said Haley. “Did you see the ambulance?”
“No, I parked in back,” said Theodosia.
“That’s where the ambulance was,” said Haley. “Miss Dimple had them pull around to the back. She didn’t want to upset the tourists. Wasn’t that sweet?”
“How did he . . . ?” began Theodosia.
Haley shook her head sadly. “Miss Dimple found him on the second-floor landing. She went looking for him when he didn’t show up for work. Apparently, he was always punctual, always arrived by nine A.M. Anyway, by the time she got to him, he wasn’t breathing. She phoned for an ambulance, but it was too late. The paramedics thought Mr. Dauphine might have had a heart attack.”
Perhaps the four flights of stairs had finally done him in, thought Theodosia. How awful. And poor Miss Dimple; how awful to find her beloved employer of almost forty years crumpled in a sad heap, no longer able to breathe. Now there would be yet another funeral in the historic district.
The sudden memory of Hughes Barron’s recent funeral service caused Theodosia to chase after Haley, who, shaking her head at the sad incident, had wandered out front to exchange additional bits of information with Drayton. Right after the ambulance had arrived, Drayton had gone up and down Church Street, chatting with the other shopkeepers, clucking over the sad news.
“Haley,” said Theodosia, catching up to her, “they’re sure it was a heart attack?”
There was an immediate flicker of understanding in Haley’s eyes. “Well, everyone’s saying it was a heart attack. But . . .”
“But what if it was something else that caused a heart attack?” asked Theodosia.
“My God,” whispered Haley as she put a hand to her mouth, “you don’t think someone bumped off Mr. Dauphine, do you?”